


Of Seductions and Meeting the Roommate

by got_spunk



Series: bring on the revolution [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: AND THAT'S THE POINT MY LOVELIES, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Friendship, BUT BY GOD, EVERYONE'S GONNA LIVE THIS TIME, F/M, Gen, I JUST LOVE CLASSICAL LITERATURE SO MUCH, Kissing, Loss, M/M, Multi, Oh god, THERE MAY BE ANGST AND PAIN AND TEARS, There will be fluff, and fighting, and probably some sleepovers let's be real, and some hand holding too, brotps galore, but anyway, but the good news is, no one dies, so many brick references, some fencing, some singing, there will be angst, there will be love, there will be rallies gone wrong, there will be sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/got_spunk/pseuds/got_spunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m the roommate. I got here last night at about three. I promise I’m not a murderer.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> marius is a baby giraffe and no one can convince me otherwise.

August

_Dear Marius,_

_What a surprise to hear from you after so long!_

_Forgive the letter, I still can’t get a hang of e-mail, and the computer keeps flashing a blue screen at me when I try to get on. Letters are much nicer, anyway, aren’t they? Your grandfather’s doing fine, although his heart has been giving him some problems. Theo’s been very helpful since you left. He drives us around, helps around the house. Such a good boy, and your grandfather just adores him, especially now, when we need a man of the house. The doctors say your grandfather needs to avoid stress, so I’ve convinced him to take a water aerobics class. He complains, but he’s quite the ladies’ man at the pool. I’m thinking of signing up, too, to be honest – there’s an awfully handsome lifeguard who I’d bet my bottom dollar winked at me last week!_

_Speaking of clandestine romance…it doesn’t surprise me a bit you’ve managed to fall head over heels with some girl. I remember when your mother brought your father home. I think it would be best if you did the same – whatever happened after, your father was very gentlemanly before the marriage. If you’re as serious as you implied, bring her over. But don’t let her distract you from your studies. Everyone at the pool always wants to know how our little lawyer is coming along!_

_Anyway, call anytime, and we’ll set up a date for you and…is her name Ursula or Cosette? I got a bit muddled listening to the voicemail. Either way, we’ll set up a date for you both to visit. I’ll wait for your reply before I talk to your grandfather. I’m afraid your old aunt’s got some housework to do, and Theo’s coming over in a bit to help with the gardening. Just give us a call, Marius. A proper one._

_Hugs and kisses,_

_Your silly,_

_Aunt Gilly_

_P.S. I hope you’ve been going to church, Marius. I think it would do you some good._

_~_

November

_~_

It was the sun that woke her, the sun and the feeling of fingertips lazily drawing small, steady circles on her arm.

“Marius?” she whispered, but he was still asleep. There was something to be said for waking up like this, nose-to-nose and tangled together. She could drink him in slowly: his curly auburn hair, his beautifully curved lips, the liberal dusting of freckles that covered him – _all_ of him, she thought with a pleasant squirm. The memory of the previous night warmed her like the sun through the window and she burrowed closer into his chest. Marius shifted, arms tightening around her.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

“Good morning,” she replied. He blinked awake, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

“How are you?” he asked with just a hint of neurosis, and it was just so _Marius_ that she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I am wonderful,” she assured him and his smile widened. “And I have practice today,” she went on, ignoring his groan, “and, much as I would like to stay here all day, I have to get up.” Marius rolled over onto his back, flinging an arm over his head.

“Cosette, it’s _Saturday_ ,” he complained.

“And I have to do my practice logs,” she retorted. “This is why you don’t date music majors, darling. It’s kind of – ” She blinked. He had the goofiest look on his face. “What?”

“Say it again.”

“Don’t date music majors?”

“ _Darling_ ,” he breathed, nuzzling behind her ear, and she did and he repeated it and so on and so forth, and all the while she marveled, not for the first time, that they had only known each other five months. Five months since they’d first met, four months since he’d plucked up enough courage to ask her out on a date, and, if he didn’t stop doing that with his teeth, approximately thirty seconds from making her late to practice for the third time this week.

“Marius,” she said warningly, pushing herself up to glare at him. He looked up at her, equal parts baleful and affectionate.

“I know, I know,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “At least stay for breakfast so I don’t feel so much like a one-night stand.” Cosette tweaked his nose.

“I will stay for breakfast,” she conceded, sliding out of bed. He stretched, reaching out an arm to check his phone on the bedside table.

“What time do you have to be there?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“It’s _nine_ , Cosette,” he cried, looking for all the world like a wounded baby giraffe. She pulled on one of his shirts.

“I’ll make the coffee,” she said firmly, heading toward the kitchenette.

“But don’t you want to take a shower first?”

She turned. He was doing his best sexpot pose, sheets strategically rumpled and one hand propping his head up.

“Mr. Pontmercy,” she remarked, eyebrows raised. “You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said immediately and she laughed. He sighed. “Go make the coffee. I’ll take a shower. By myself. All alone. With nobody there.” She crossed her eyes at him. He grinned.

Five months, she mused as she padded into the kitchen area, grabbing two mugs. It didn’t feel like five months at all. It felt like they’d known each other a lifetime, and it scared Cosette as much as it thrilled her, because she had not been looking for this, oh, no, not by a long shot.

She started up a pot and filled a saucepan with water, setting it on the stove to boil. She actually wasn’t that much of a coffee person, truth be told; as a vocal student, she preferred tea. But her father couldn’t function without it, and by necessity, Cosette had learned her way around a coffee machine. She couldn’t cook to save her life – she left that up to Marius – but she could make a mean cup of coffee, and thank goodness, because Marius was addicted to the stuff. She’d noticed, however, that a little box of Lady Grey had appeared next to the filters, despite his dislike of tea.

Listening to the burble of water slowly filling the pot, she wandered into the little living area, squeezing around the couch to look out the window. It was going to be a beautiful day. The sky had the look of imminent spring about it, cloudless, sunny, and colored a light, creamy blue that reminded Cosette of when she was very little. She’d look up at skies like this, daydreaming about castles and silly things, lying in the garden watching bees drone past. She still loved gardens, the way newly-turned earth smelled. Which reminded her, she needed to pick up more fertilizer, her little tray of lavender was starting to look very sad indeed -

“I’m letting you know I’m here because I don’t want to scare you.”

Cosette swallowed a shriek, whipping around.

“Hi,” said the guy on the couch.

She stared at him.

“I’m the roommate. I got here last night at about three. I promise I’m not a murderer.”

Cosette blinked.

“Okay,” she said. “Um.”

“You’re Cosette, aren’t you?” the guy on the couch went on as if she were not wearing a shirt that hit just above her knees and gaping at him like an idiot. “Marius won’t shut up about you. It’s kind of adorable.”

“Oh,” Cosette said intelligently. The guy on the couch grinned, a warm, happy grin that lit up his entire face under his mop of unruly black hair.

“I’m Courfeyrac,” he told her, still beaming at her. “This is really awkward.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and then, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, “Would you like some coffee?”

“Oh, I _like_ you,” Courfeyrac declared, and that was how Marius found them, sitting side by side on the couch sipping their coffee and tea, talking and joking as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Courf?” he asked, doing a double take. His hair was still wet from his shower. Courfeyrac smiled that huge smile again, propping his chin on the back of the couch to regard his friend with genuine pride.

“Congrats on the sex!” he cheered, flinging his arms into the air, and Cosette dissolved into giggles.

~

“But I thought you weren’t getting back until tomorrow,” Marius repeated for the umpteenth time. Courfeyrac sighed.

“Yes, but Enjolras called and said he was going to kill someone, and Enjolras has never been known for his sense of humor,” he explained patiently. “The wedding was over, I figured I’d just drive down, and here I am.” He popped two pieces of bread in the toaster while Marius stirred his scrambled eggs. Cosette was taking her turn in the shower, and they could hear her singing absentmindedly through the wall. “If you’d warned me, I would have stayed at Combeferre's,” he commented, grinning. “I like her, Marius. She’s like a Disney princess or something.” Marius went red from his collar up all the way to the tips of his freckled ears.

“Don’t scare her off,” he warned him, brandishing the spatula at Courf, who was now rummaging through the fridge in search of some cheese. “I’m serious.”

“We won’t scare her off,” Courf assured him vaguely. “She should come to the meeting tonight, if you're coming. And if you promise to behave,” he added sternly, popping his head back out to glare very pointedly at Marius. “Enjolras told me what happened. Dishonor on your cow, Pontmercy.” Marius bristled.

“He told me, and I quote, ‘nobody cares about your lonely soul,’” he muttered defensively, reddening. “Which doesn’t even make sense, because I am definitely not the lonely one here.” Courfeyrac threw back his head and laughed, closing the fridge. “It’s not funny, Courf, what if he says something to Cosette?”

“He won’t,” Courfeyrac chuckled. He pulled out his phone and played with it, taking a bite out of a block of cheese Marius had not even known they’d had. “You know Enjolras. Every once and a while he needs to stomp his feet and pull out his hair, especially when exams roll around.” Marius looked doubtful. He grabbed a plate, scraping the eggs onto it. Courfeyrac studied him, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “I’m serious about bringing her to the meeting tonight.” Marius made a face. “What? Don’t you want her to meet everyone?”

“It just hasn’t worked out yet,” Marius hedged, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. Between Cosette’s sporadic practice schedules and classes, avoiding taking her to the meetings hadn’t been all that difficult. She’d expressed interest in attending one, and Marius really did want to introduce her to everybody – he just wanted to introduce her when they’d managed to get through at least two consecutive meetings without anyone bursting into tears or screaming at someone. And, he admitted, he did feel a little possessive, maybe even a little selfish. Was it so awful to want her to himself for a while?

Courfeyrac took a bite of his block of cheese, looking almost as die-hard as Enjolras.

“Well, we’re making it work out today,” he said decisively. “I’ve already texted everyone and they’ve promised to be on their best behavior.”

“Courf!” Marius cried. Courfeyrac looked wounded.

“Do you want her to meet your friends or not, Pontmerdouche?”

“Yes, of course I do, but this is kind of new for me and I think it’s new for her, too, and I don’t want to jinx this,” Marius moaned. He caught and held Courf’s gaze, serious and more than a little imploring. “This is a really good thing, Courf. Like, _really_ good.” Courfeyrac remained unmoved.

“They’re going to love her,” he said exasperatedly. “Even Enjolras, once we drag him out of his laptop. Leave it to me, Marius, I’ll make this thing happen.” Marius opened his mouth.

“Make what happen?”

Marius jumped. Cosette, twisting her wet braid into a bun, snagged a piece of toast and began piling eggs onto it.

“You’re meeting the ABC’s today,” Courfeyrac informed her brightly before Marius could get a word out.

“Am I?” Cosette remarked, glancing between the two boys. “What time and where?”

“Nine o’clock at Musain's,” Courfeyrac supplied instantly. Marius entertained a brief daydream in which he set himself on fire and jumped off a cliff. Cosette considered, taking a bite out of her toast and eggs.

"I think I can do that," she said after swallowing. A sudden smile dawned on her face, and Marius' stomach flipped with equal parts panic and a giddy rush of endorphins. "Yeah, I think I can do that, definitely. If someone picks me up. I don't think I've heard of Musain's."

Courfeyrac literally spasmed with glee.

"Marius and I will!" he shouted, clapping Marius on the back. Yes, right off a cliff, Marius thought, where sharks promptly devoured him. "It's an Italian place, our friend works there, the fried cheese is _amazing_."

"It sounds wonderful." Cosette kissed Marius on the cheek and smiled at Courfeyrac. "I'm really sorry I have to dash so soon, but I'm probably going to be late as it is - it was really nice to meet you!" She pecked Marius again, scooped up her bag, and left, humming as she went.

"Oh, relax," Courfeyrac snickered as he spied the expression on Marius' face. "It'll be _fine_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert: everything is probably not fine.
> 
> give me some feedback, please?


	2. In Which Things Are Not Fine (But They Are)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You said it would be fine, Courfeyrac!" Marius howled. "You said it would be fine, and you lied to me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here be fluff. this chunk is mostly an exercise in how long i can go without writing angst. we'll see how long it lasts.
> 
> incidentally, updates will be weekly*, but since this was already written, i thought i'd go ahead and post it. 
> 
> *this statement is a lie

"You said it would be fine, Courfeyrac!" Marius howled. "You said it would be fine, and _you lied to me!_ "

They were pulled over on the side of the road, cars whooshing past them while Marius marched around in a circle in utter despair and Courfeyrac kicked sadly at the blown tire.

"Call Cosette and tell her to ride the bus or something," he sighed. "Ponine says she's on her way with a jack, but we're definitely going to be late."

"Noooooo," Marius moaned, still stumbling around in increasingly smaller circles. "No, no, no, _no_ , it's a _sign_ , Courf, this is going to be a _disaster_."

"No, it's not," Courfeyrac said soothingly, texting so fast his fingers blurred.

" _Yes, it is_." Without preamble, Marius flung open the car door and flopped face first onto the back seat with a miserable little huff.

"Call Cosette right now and let her know what's going on," Courf repeated firmly. "Musain's is right beside the bus stop, she can't miss it." Still face down in the seat, Marius pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed with an actual whimper.

 _Oh, my God_ , Courfeyrac thought exasperatedly, but Marius managed to pull himself together enough to explain the situation to Cosette without too much tragedy, and Courfeyrac returned his attention to his phone. It buzzed, a new message popping up.

_this chick better b worth it._

_she is, i think. ur gonna like her_ , he typed back. Grimacing, he glanced over his shoulder to check on Marius, who appeared to be dry sobbing into the seat cushion. His phone buzzed again.

_somehow i srsly doubt that. where r u again?_

Courfeyrac allowed himself a sigh.

 _corner of rue plumet and 5th_ , he responded. _arent u supposed to b against anti-fem stuff like fighting over boys, ms thenardier?_ He pressed send.

 _shut up_ , came the almost instantaneous reply, then, a few seconds later _, bc u def care all abt feminism. 5 min away._ Courfeyrac grinned.

_thx ponine ;)_

"Five minutes, Marius," he called over the noise of the traffic. "What did Cosette say?" Marius pushed himself up and sat up like a normal person, albeit a normal person who had lost the will to live.

"That she'd be fine taking the bus and not to worry about it," he reported unhappily. "But she's going to walk in _alone_ and everyone's going to _jump_ her and this is going to be a _total disaster_ \- "

"Oh, my God," Courfeyrac said loudly. "Marius. This is not going to be a disaster. This is _not_ going to be a disaster. Say it with me!"

"But - "

"This is not going to be a disaster! This is not going to be a disaster!" Courf chanted over him with a manic sort of cheerfulness and eventually, Marius joined in, perhaps with a decided lack of conviction, but participation was participation, and Courfeyrac had enough sense not to complain. Conducting Marius vaguely with one hand, he texted the rest of the ABC's with the other.

_flat tire - ep's coming with a jack, b there asap._

_I really hope this isn't going to be a disaster_ , he thought privately, pocketing his phone, and he settled in to wait for Éponine to arrive.

~

Musichetta cradled the phone between her cheek and her shoulder, trying to ball up her wild black hair into a bun with limited success.

"I swear, the things I do for love," Éponine's voice said grumpily in her ear.

"You're a good friend," Chetta said honestly. "And we all love you." Chetta was firing up the cappuccino machine, cleaning the kitchen, and attempting to make herself look as if she hadn't just worked two shifts in a row, all at once. She wished she could sit for a minute and talk properly - she hated hearing Éponine so down - but she thought better on her feet, anyway. Which reminded her - she scribbled a quick note on the back of her hand to make some spicy tea, the type that Joly swore could ward off colds; he'd mentioned a tickle in his throat twice the day before, but if Chetta could nip it in the bud quick -

Chetta's cousin, Irma, popped her head in. Along with her thick, black hair, she shared a variety of traits with the older girl, the ability to multitask being one of them, thank God.

"When are your friends getting here, _capretta_?"

"Nineish." Her cousin flicked her eyes at the phone. "Ponine," Musichetta mouthed and her cousin nodded knowingly.

"Remember to close up," she mouthed back and pressed a quick kiss to Chetta's forehead before grabbing her keys and coat. Éponine sighed directly into the phone.

"When did I become this girl, Chetta? I don't like being this girl."

"I'll see if we have any leftover stuffed mushrooms," Musichetta promised. "Stuffed mushrooms make everything better." She could hear her Irma talking to Enjolras in the cafe area, underscored by light piano - Grantaire had arrived. Irma wasn't a huge fan of Grantaire's, but she adored Enjolras, and not just because of his glorious hair and frankly unfair bone structure, although that certainly played a part; quite simply, being around Enjolras was a little like being around the sun. Grantaire had dubbed it "The Apollo Effect," much to Enjolras' annoyance, but it had a ring of truth to it underneath Grantaire's usual snark. People gravitated toward Enjolras. Enjolras spoke and people listened. And so when he'd mentioned the ABC's lack of headquarters, Irma had offered Musain's as exclusively their space after nine on the weekends, even on Saturday nights when the flow of customers increased from five people an hour to a whopping twelve. Musain's did a splendid business with all the old Italian ladies for their Sunday brunches, but a hotspot it was not. Musichetta had a theory that Irma's generosity stemmed both from a place of benevolent altruism and the shrewd calculation that having a bunch of attractive, college-aged males being Passionate About Things would attract a few more customers (and to Irma's credit, the afternoon meetings always coincided with a decent spike in revenue).

"Are you even listening?" Éponine asked wearily. Chetta jumped, wincing. So much for multitasking. She undid her apron, moving her phone to her other shoulder.

"I'm sorry, _amore_ , I'm just about to close up shop. I'm listening, I promise. How did you get the jack?"

Éponine sighed.

"Montparnasse," she admitted. "Which means I'm pretty sure we're together again for the umpteenth time. I repeat: the things I do for love."

"Montparnasse is a sex bomb." Musichetta smirked. "The things you do for love, my ass."

"He's not bad with his hands," Éponine conceded in purely academic tones, "but it's like I'm a car, you know? Like, he's fixing a car, only the car is me, and by fixing I mean - "

"I know what you mean, girl. I've seen him in those jeans."

The two shared a moment of appreciative silence for Montparnasse in _those jeans_.

"Anyway." Éponine hesitated. Musichetta could see her in her mind's eye, chewing on the nail of her thumb and scowling, driving one-handed like Musichetta was always telling her not to. "Is Colette or whatever her name there yet?"

"No, I think it's just Enjolras and Grantaire right now. It's still pretty early." The only sounds from the dining area were the steady, if somewhat intense tapping of laptop keys and Grantaire fiddling around with what sounded like a combination of jazz and Chopin, which meant Irma had left. "You might like her. I'm still sorry, though. I know this is no fun."

"No, it's not," Éponine muttered darkly. "They're idiots."

"Our idiots," Chetta agreed fondly, hanging up her apron. "Speaking of which, I've got to get some tea started or Joly will sniffle through the entire meeting."

"Do what you gotta do, Chet. See you in a bit."

"Bye."

"Bye."

_Right. Down to business._

"Hey, Chetta?"

Musichetta raised her eyes in a silent prayer for patience.

"Yeah, Enj?" she called as she put a few mushrooms on a tray and stuck them in the warming oven.

"Don't call me that," Enjolras said immediately. Musichetta waited for a moment, pouring the coffee, then sighed impatiently.

"What do you _need_?" she reminded him. The tapping of computer keys didn’t even slow.

"Someone's at the door."

"So go get it."

"I'm busy." _Oh, my God._

Musichetta set the last mug of coffee on the tray with perhaps more vehemence than mugs of coffee warranted.

"Enj, Enj, _Enj_ ," she said loudly, vindictively. "Enj, Enj, Enj, Enj - "

The piano abruptly stopped with a very pointed dissonant chord. Scuffed shoes marched very pointedly over to the door, said door swung open very pointedly, and Grantaire announced, in a very pointed sort of way, "Courfeyrac was right. She's an actual Disney princess."

Musichetta did a double take. The meeting didn't start for at least another thirty minutes, what was Cosette doing here so early? She scooped the tray up and backed through the swinging door to the main dining area, broad smile firmly in place.

"Sorry, I was getting the coffee - "

Musichetta did not faze easily. She'd grown up the only girl in a sea of brothers and cousins, grown up with parents who had filled her childhood with joyful chaos, but chaos nonetheless. She'd gone to protests, been arrested; she'd dated Joly, then Bossuet, and now Joly again, and alternating between the world's biggest hypochondriac and the world's unluckiest doofus required a certain degree of consistent inner calm, a calm that Musichetta possessed in spades.

Musichetta did not faze easily. She still nearly dropped the tray.

"Hi," said the actual Disney princess. "I'm Cosette. Am I in the right place?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback feedback feedback i will give you my best cow and three goats for feedback


	3. The One With The "Let's All Gang Up On Marius" Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cosette meets the gang, has her first bar experience, and the phrase "Revolutionary Barbie" is very nearly tweeted (but Combeferre objects).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, uh, this is really long? sorry?

When Courfeyrac was right, _ohhhhh_ , Courfeyrac was right.

Cosette sat on the lip of the little performance stage like the queen she was, conversing animatedly with Enjolras, _whose laptop was closed_. On her other side was Jehan in a particularly vibrant blue bow tie. He had snagged one of Cosette's arms and appeared to be scribbling poetry all over it, which was Jehan-speak for "I shall call you Squishy and you shall be mine and you shall be my Squishy." She looked up as Marius, Courfeyrac, and Éponine entered and instantly her face lit up with a dazzling smile.

"Yay, you made it," she cheered, waving her free arm before returning her attention to Enjolras.

"Oh, thank _God_ ," Grantaire drawled from where he played what sounded like a particularly tender rendition of "Shots" underneath everyone's chatter. "They've been discussing prison reform for like, twenty minutes. I want to shoot myself in the face." Joly, sitting beside him on the piano bench and sipping what looked to be the nasty herbal cold tea, lightly butted his head against Grantaire’s shoulder.

"Where on earth did you find her?" he asked Marius happily. "She's like - like - "

"Like an actual Disney princess?" Marius suggested with the air of a man about to burst into a musical number that would most likely involve a brief tap interlude and at least one key change. Cosette snuck a look of unadulterated cuteness at Marius and both of them went pink. Jehan went pink, too, because with Jehan, blushing was contagious. Courfeyrac whooped.

"I _told_ you everything would be fine!" He practically leapt on top of Marius, pounding his back with his fists. "Am I right, or am I right, _am I right?_ "

"Down, boy," Éponine said sourly from behind them. Courfeyrac made a face at her, but Marius, predictably oblivious, didn't notice. And why would he, when he was so busy watching Cosette and doing everything but floating gently into the air and glowing? Éponine just - okay.

Éponine looked miserable.

Releasing Marius, he let him skip to his actual Disney princess as if he were her adorable, cartoon woodland creature (really, Courfeyrac thought fondly, the metaphor wasn't too far off, and it was about damn time Pontmercy got laid) and grinned at Éponine, whose eyes had followed Marius almost unwillingly.

"Grantaire and I are going out for drinks later with Bossuet and Joly, you wanna join us?" he propositioned her, slinging an arm over her shoulders. She glowered at him, shrugged it off, but her lips twitched ever so slightly. Courfeyrac's grin widened.

"Can I bring a friend?" she ventured in a tone of voice that could mean only one thing. Courfeyrac's face fell.

"Oh, _no_ , Ponine, not Montparnasshole."

"He's my boyfriend, you could at least _pretend_ to make an effort to like him," Éponine said irritably, flicker of good humor gone as quickly as it had come. Courfeyrac rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying his damnedest not to look moody.

"Just tell him not to bring any of his friends," he grumbled and she rolled her eyes. "God, I'm such a pushover. When did you get back together with him again, anyway? I thought you were done with him and the motorcycles and the leather and the Satanic rituals - "

"Less than half an hour ago, and Montparnasse is sex on wheels, Courf - you're just jealous of his hair," Musichetta sang, a plate with her famous fried cheese and several steaming stuffed mushrooms held aloft. Éponine visibly melted.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she moaned, accepting the food with truly religious reverence. "Oh, God, I love you _so much_ , you have no idea."

"I am the best," Chetta agreed solemnly, eyes twinkling. "You're welcome, _amore_." Éponine inhaled blissfully, kissed Musichetta on the cheek, and wandered off to evict Joly from his perch beside Grantaire.

"Drinks at Corinth!" Courfeyrac called after her, running a hand through his unruly hair self-consciously. Musichetta put her cool, soft palms on either side of his face.

"You are still the prettiest boy in the room," she cooed at him, kissing the tip of his nose. She drew back, considering. "Well, except for maybe Enjolras. And Jehan. And Joly and Bossuet, but I think I'm a little biased."

"Thanks, Cheddar. You're a real pal," Courfeyrac deadpanned and she patted his cheek affectionately.

"I've got some more fried cheese just for you," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed back to the kitchen. Courfeyrac lit up. "You're welcome."

"You are a goddess," Courfeyrac cried in rhapsodic adoration after her, practically bouncing up and down, "a radiant, incandescent goddess of beauty and happiness and - "

"You just want me for my body," Musichetta laughed, the door swinging shut behind her. "Glad to have you back, _amore_. I want to hear all about the wedding!"

"Five minutes, everyone," Combeferre announced from the bar, adjusting his glasses and shuffling through what looked like a mountain of notes. Courfeyrac hopped onto a barstool next to him.

"I have missed my voice of reason," he told him teasingly and Combeferre looked so overjoyed to see him that Courfeyrac couldn't help but throw his arms around his neck and laugh.

"How was the wedding? Did your mother get off your back? Oh, my gosh, it's been hellish without you, you know that?" Combeferre said in abject relief, hugging Courfeyrac tightly.

"The wedding had very friendly bridesmaids, my mother still wishes you were her son, and as I said, I missed you, too," Courfeyrac replied fondly. "Hey, Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet, and Éponine-plus-probably-her-creepy-boyfriend are going drinking tonight, you wanna come?"

"Where at?"

"Corinth." Combeferre assumed the expression that meant he was rifling through his mental filing cabinets.

"I've got two papers due soon," he hedged. Courfeyrac leveled a glare at him.

"It is my first night back," he said in a wounded, hushed voice, "I have been stuck with my family for an entire weekend - "

" - consoled, I'm sure, by all those friendly bridesmaids - " Combeferre interjected calmly.

" - AND YOU are going to pick your essays over _me_ , your best friend, your wingman, whom you missed so dearly, who is a law student so he could be staying in studying, too, but he wants to renew the bonds of bro-hood with his bros, but most especially his _number one bro_ , Brombeferre - "

"Speaking of law, where are you on getting that permit from the city for - "

Courfeyrac moaned loudly, dropping his head onto the bar.

"I've been back for half a day," he lamented into the polished wood. "I give up. Leave me to die." A clatter next to his nose. The ambrosial aroma of something very bad for his arteries indeed wafted gently into his nostrils.

"Does that mean I can have your fried cheese?" Bahorel's voice asked and Courfeyrac shot back up indignantly, snatching the plate to his chest protectively. "Also, I highly resent not being invited to this renewal of broship. You all suck."

"Bahorel," Combeferre said patiently, "would you like to go drinking with us tonight?"

"Why, yes, yes I would," Bahorel replied with a lazy grin, cracking his neck. Courf spun his head to Combeferre so fast he got whiplash.

"Does this mean you're coming?"

Combeferre just smiled.

"Time to start the meeting," he said, then repeated it louder to the rest of the ABC's. With a wide grin, Grantaire played an obnoxious introductory chord on the piano, earning a playful shove from Éponine and an eye twitch from Enjolras, who stood.

"Before we start, let's just get this over with," he said over residual chatter, one eyebrow arched. "Do we have any visitors today?"

"Does Pontmercy count?" Bossuet joked from where Musichetta was giving him a shoulder massage. Joly snorted into his tea.

"I'm a visitor," Cosette piped up, rubbing a red-faced Marius' back, who grinned at her sheepishly.

"Well, introduce yourself, pretty girl," Bahorel hollered, nabbing a bit of fried cheese and leaning against the bar. Feuilly passed him a name tag to fill out, giving one to Combeferre and Courfeyrac as well. Cosette waved.

"I'm Cosette Fauchelevent."

"Hi, Cosette," everyone chorused, even Enjolras. Cosette beamed at them all.

"I'm a junior, I'm studying opera, I transferred over the summer, and I'm very happy to be here."

"We're glad to have you, Cosette," Enjolras said, and he looked as though he actually might have meant it. "Now," he went on in a brisker tone, "are we ready to begin?" Everyone, energized by the novelty of a newcomer, gave a little cheer, even Grantaire, though his celebratory piano chord had a decidedly mocking tone to it. Enjolras ignored him. "Excellent. Feuilly, how are we doing transportation-wise?"

Feuilly launched into a detailed report on carpooling and estimated time of arrivals and Courfeyrac settled into his seat, unable to help the grin that spread across his face.

It was nice to be home.

~

Cosette had worried. She had worried, because once a homeschooler, always a homeschooler, but she needn't have worried at all. Cosette's cheeks ached, not just because everyone was so nice and wonderful - it was almost like a sitcom, like a bizarre, loud, really touchy sitcom the way these people loved each other - but mostly because for the first time since moving here, she felt...at home. Musichetta had pushed a cup of spicy tea on her when she’d declined her offer of coffee. Bossuet had declared her an honorary Ami, which Joly had then explained to her (they called each other Amis, it was adorable). And Feuilly, bless him, had given everyone name tags and Cosette had almost cried in relief because _oh, goodness, these names_ , and it just felt right.

So somehow she wasn't all that surprised to find herself crammed in between Bahorel and Marius in Courfeyrac's car, on their way to a bar called Corinth with the windows rolled down to share their _Mulan_ sing-a-long with the world.

"I'm never gonna catch my breath!"

"Say goodbye to those who knew me!" 

"Boy, was I a fool in school for cutting gym," warbled Marius in a perfect imitation of the track and Cosette literally couldn't breathe for laughing.

"These guys got me scared to death!"

"Hope he doesn't see right through me!" Bahorel shrieked and even Combeferre cracked up in the passenger's seat, because Lea Salonga had nothing on Bahorel.

"Now I really wish that I knew how to swim!" Courfeyrac cried and together they all bellowed, "BE A MAN!"

They executed "Poor Unfortunate Souls" in a similar fashion, brought the house (car) down with an energetic, if somewhat pitchy, "Gaston," and Courfeyrac and Bahorel both railroaded Combeferre into a truly inspiring "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" solo, which earned him a two minute round of applause in the parking lot of Corinth.

A knock on the driver's side interrupted them.

"May I help you?" Courfeyrac inquired as he leaned out the window.

"Are you ready to go inside and have _adult_ fun time, or...?" Bossuet raised his eyebrows, grinning.

"Nerds," Grantaire yelled in the background as beside him, Joly cried, "You Disneyed without me? Guys, what the hell!"

They all tumbled out of the car, half-drunk already just on the feeling of Saturday night, laughing and joking. Corinth looked to be exactly the sort of bar Cosette's father had warned her away from, loud and ramshackle, its porch choked with Christmas lights and people in various degrees of inebriation. She snuck her hand into Marius', a little cowed but pleased to be included. They entered and were immediately hit with a wall of sound.

"I'm going to grab a table," Combeferre said over the rockabilly music and cheers - evidently, these boys were regulars. Bahorel sauntered over to the bar, rolling up his sleeves with the air of a man in pursuit of trouble. Courfeyrac hooked an arm around Marius' neck, and Cosette took her cue.

"I'll go with you," she offered Combeferre, giving Marius' hand a little squeeze before Grantaire and Courfeyrac dragged him off.

"Revel if you can, and eat if you dare!" Courfeyrac shouted, and an answering whoop rose up from the people crowded around the bar watching what looked to be a soccer match on a dingy little television set. "Gibelotte! Baby! Did you miss me?"

"I'll be right back," Marius called, laughing as he disappeared into the mass of people. Combeferre smiled at her.

"Not a bar person?" he guessed.

"Not really," Cosette admitted.

"It can get a little rowdy," Bossuet agreed, just as a harried waitress pushed through them. Her tray full of drinks wobbled dangerously and -

"Ah, shit!"

"It's all right," Bossuet assured her with a sort of cheerful resignation, sopping wet.

"Oh, baby, of course it would be you," the waitress moaned, scrabbling to right the drinks. Miraculously, only one had fallen; the broken glass crunched under their shifting feet. "Lesgle, sweetheart, I am so sorry!"

"It's fine, Matelote," Bossuet soothed her. "Lemme help." And he got down on his hands and knees, scooping the glass into a pile. Matelote groaned.

"I'll buy you a round, how 'bout that? Combeferre, baby, would you - ?"

"Of course," Combeferre said immediately, taking the tray of drinks so that Matelote could join Bossuet on the ground.

"I swear to God, Bossuet, it's been five minutes," Joly said exasperatedly, but he, too, sank to the floor, leaving Cosette in the awkward position of being the only one not helping.

"I'll go get napkins," she suggested. "Which way is the bathroom?"

"To the left of the bar," Matelote supplied. "Oh, hel - _lo_ , you're new!"

"She's Marius' girlfriend," Joly explained significantly, and Matelote raised her eyebrows.

"Well, _well_ , way to go, Marius!"

Furiously blushing, Cosette shot a quick smile at them and darted toward the general area of the restroom, weaving in and out of the throng of people. It was a bit too loud in here for her taste, too loud and smoky enough to drape the entire place in a somewhat unpleasant haze. She managed to squeeze past the bar with a minimum of cat-calling and slid into the bathroom with a sigh of relief. At the sink, the girl who wasn't Musichetta looked up from washing her hands.

"Hello," Cosette said automatically, smiling. The girl smiled back. Was it Cosette's imagination, or did she look less than thrilled to see her?

"Hi," she answered.

"Sorry, I've completely blanked on your name," Cosette apologized. The girl flicked her hands in the sink.

"Yeah, I took my name tag off. It's Éponine."

"Right," Cosette said gratefully. Éponine smiled again, quick, perfunctory. She glanced at Cosette in the mirror, an appraising sweep of her eyes that made Cosette feel oddly exposed. She resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders.

"Quite a lot of paper towels you got there," Éponine observed and Cosette stared at her uncomprehendingly before the light bulb sputtered on.

"Oh, yes, Bossuet - "

Éponine held up a hand, smirking slightly.

"Stop right there - that's all I need to know." She checked her lipstick in the mirror then headed for the door, pausing with her hand on the doorframe where various numbers and messages and names had been carved or Sharpied into the wood. "You coming?" Cosette leapt to follow her.

"Yes - yeah, I'm - "

 _Homeschooler_ , she fussed at herself as she trailed behind Éponine's long, dark hair. The other girl navigated the crowd with ease. _You can put a noun in front of a verb, stop freaking out._ She thought briefly of her apartment, empty as it was, or even Musain's; there, at least, she hadn't felt quite so out of place. But these people were Marius' friends. And they really were so nice. One night out wasn't going to kill her, not by a long shot. And, if she was being honest, however overwhelming all this was, a part of her felt like kicking off her shoes and dancing barefoot. She really, really hoped that that was normal and suspected that it very much was not, particularly given what these floors had seen.

"Napkins!" she chirruped as they approached the still-soaked Bossuet. Matelote had disappeared with the tray of drinks, and as Combeferre took a handful of paper towels to mop up the mess on the floor, Joly snagged a couple to pat at Bossuet's face and shirt.

"I can't take you anywhere," he grumbled, but he didn’t look nearly as grumpy as he sounded. Éponine opened her mouth to comment, but abruptly, her gaze fixed on a spot over Cosette's shoulder. She grinned a grin that was more a wolfish baring of teeth than anything else.

"Oh, _great_ ," Courfeyrac said loudly and irritably, rejoining them. Éponine shot a resigned sort of glare at him before navigating her way to the door, where Cosette spied a sleek-looking man with a toothpick clutched in his mouth and jeans that could make angels weep.

"Wait, she's with Montparnasse again?" a significantly sweatier Marius asked, appearing beside Courfeyrac. "When did that happen?"

"About an hour and a half ago," Grantaire informed him, frowning at Marius for some reason. He glanced at Bossuet and instantly groaned. "Oh, for God's sake, Lesgle, already?"

"It was _my_ fault, and you're getting a round on the house because of it, so quit your whining." The waitress from earlier, bearing another tray of drinks, bumped his hip. Grantaire's face split into a lazy grin.

"Matelote, light of my life," he rhapsodized, clearly just revving up. "Give us a kiss." Matelote pushed a drink at him with a half-serious scowl, but proffered her cheek to Grantaire anyway.

"Shut up and drink, you charmer, you," she ordered good-naturedly, and Grantaire kissed her on the cheek with a resounding smack.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Outside table?" Combeferre suggested, hands full of damp paper towels. Matelote, passing out drinks, pointed at the porch with her free hand.

"The usual spot's ready, baby, you just go on back. And let me take those napkins - you're such a sweetheart, if I were twenty years younger - "

Tucking the paper towels under her arm, she led the way to the table.

"There you are," she beamed as they settled in, and then rounded on Cosette, passing out the rest of the drinks all the while. "Now, sweetheart, I know what the boys are having, but what can I get you?"

"Oh, water will be fine," Cosette demurred, hand sneaking once more into Marius' as he sat beside her.

"You sure?" Cosette nodded. "All right, one water, coming up. And an order of chicken wings?"

An answering cheer from the group, and Matelote bustled off, pleased as punch.

"Where's Bahorel?" Combeferre asked.

"There's a soccer game on - you know how he gets," Courfeyrac sighed before craning his neck. "Oh, wait, no, speak of the devil." Bahorel was all but strutting over to them, turning his chair around so that he could straddle it.

"Moldavia is _crushing_ Poland," he announced gleefully as Matelote plunked a beer in front of him, sliding Cosette's water across the table. "Feuilly is gonna be so pissed." He took an enormous gulp of his drink before adding, almost as an afterthought, "Oh, Ép says she and Monty are heading out."

"What?" Marius cried. "We literally just got here!" Beside him, Courfeyrac muttered something darkly that sounded suspiciously like, " _Montparnasshole_."

"I don't like him," Joly said worriedly.

"He's good with motorcycles," Bahorel replied with a shrug. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well," was all Grantaire said. He shot Bossuet a significant glance. " _So_ ," he went on, rapidly changing gears, "I want to know how you two crazy kids met." He waggled his eyebrows at Cosette and Marius, both of whom exchanged a look and laughed at the expression on the other's face. Grantaire slapped the table, mock serious. "Oh, come on! We couldn't even get a _name_ out of Marius for a _month_ , I want details!"

"R is a secret romantic," Courfeyrac stage whispered. Grantaire narrowed his eyes at him and flicked a balled up straw wrapper at him. His aim was true; Courfeyrac pawed at his hair frantically like a cat until Combeferre plucked the paper out of it with a practiced deftness.

"I am making polite conversation," Grantaire pronounced with an affected nonchalance. "I am participating in familiar social constructs in order to make Miss Fauchelevent feel welcome amidst our crazy. I am not a secret romantic, I am not a secret anything, I happen to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, thank you very much."

"You've been spending too much time with Jehan," Bahorel snorted. Grantaire punched his arm. Bahorel punched back.

"So, how _did_ you guys meet?" Combeferre prompted over the mini-scuffle erupting next to him, placidly scooting his drink out of the way of a rogue elbow. Marius looked at Cosette, grinning expectantly.

"Well," she recalled, "I’d actually just settled in – my dad helped me move over the summer – and I was sitting on a bench, eating lunch, and I looked up…” She grinned. “And there was this really cute redhead watching me - "

" _Stalker!_ " Grantaire and Bossuet burst out at the same time. Marius went bright pink.

"It was cute!" Cosette protested, hiding her own blush in a quick swallow of her water. "My bus came, so I had to leave, but I kept going back to that bench, hoping he'd show up again. And he did, and then one day he sat down next to me, and we started up conversation. And here I am." She smiled at Marius, who had that goofy look on his face again.

"And here you are," Grantaire agreed cheerfully, sticking his hand directly in Bahorel's face. Bahorel licked it. Joly cringed. Cosette took another gulp of her water, this time to hide a giggle.

"How did _you_ all meet Marius, then?" she asked, genuinely curious. "Did he stalk you, too?" Marius choked on his drink.

"Oh, OH, I get to tell this one!" Bossuet shouted. "Okay, so have you heard about Professor Blondeau?"

"Blondeau," everyone else groaned. Cosette shook her head bemusedly.

"Total jerk, teaches law - anyway, he has this thing where if he calls your name three times during role and you don't answer, he kicks you out of class. It's awful, he made some poor girl cry once, I remember. Hate that guy."

"Get on with it," Courfeyrac urged, grinning.

"Anyway, I'm sitting in class during role, and Blondeau decides he's going to start at the letter 'P,' which you know, what a jerk, and he looks down that beak of a nose and is like, 'Pontmercy?'" Bossuet paused for effect. "And no one answers. So again: 'Pontmercy?' Nothing. Silence. This poor kid is about to get struck off the role, sixty bucks down the drain. So, like the good guy I am, I decide to save this Pontmercy dude's ass, and I call out 'here' so Pontmercy doesn't get struck off the role. But Blondeau, he's seen me, he knows I'm not Pontmercy, so he switches to 'L' - like I said, total jerk - and when I try to answer as me, he says, he says, 'Well, which is it, Pontmercy or Lesgle? The truth this time, if you please.'" Bossuet grinned, a bit dreamily. "And I slam my books down, stand up, and shout, 'You can't handle the truth!'"

The table dissolved into laughter.

"So the long and short of it is, Cosette, I got kicked out of my sophomore ethics class for your sorry-ass boyfriend, but for five seconds, I was the greatest lawyer in the whole world." Bossuet raised his glass, beaming. "Cheers!"

It was at this point that Matelote delivered an obscenely huge plate of chicken wings and they all descended on it ravenously.

"Okay, I have a Pontmercy story," Courfeyrac announced as the feeding frenzy died down. "It's not _as_ good, but it's good. Technically, I met him when Bossuet did - "

"They called me over at the library," Marius interrupted. "I'd dropped a book or something and so they called me over and told me about the whole Blondeau thing - "

"You were so freaked out," Bossuet snorted.

"Well, these two complete strangers were yelling my name, and then you told me what you'd done and I felt bad - "

"Oh, God, you apologized so much, I thought you were going to _cry_ \- "

"I am telling a story!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, scandalized. "Can you believe this, Cosette? I'd say it isn't always like this - "

" - but it is," Combeferre finished for him, adjusting his glasses with a grin.

"I'm listening," Cosette assured a highly disgruntled Courf, and privately decided to adopt him right then and there.

"Anyway, so we knew each other, okay? But _this_ darling boy." Marius rolled his eyes. "He shows up at my place at like, one in the morning. I'm a night owl, so I was awake, but who shows up at someone's door at one in the morning, am I right? And he just looks at me and says in the most solemn, deadly serious voice, 'Courfeyrac, I have come to sleep with you.'"

Cosette inhaled a mouthful of chicken and coughed so hard and for so long that Combeferre got up out of his seat to pound her on the back and Joly offered to perform the Heimlich maneuver five times (and mentioned that he was CPR certified seven or so times, Cosette lost count between bouts of hacking).

"It was the wrong choice of words!" Marius howled when she had recovered. "It’s a long story – it wasn’t - when did this turn into a 'Let's All Gang Up On Marius Party?'"

"Isn't that every day?" Bahorel deadpanned. "I actually don't remember meeting you all that well, Pontmercy. Didn't I punch you in the face?"

"No, that was me," Bossuet corrected him.

"And me," Grantaire piped up.

"And me," Combeferre chimed in. Bahorel chewed on his chicken contemplatively.

"Combeferre I regret," he decided, swallowing. "Bossuet and Grantaire - you probably deserved it."

"You thought I was some guy your girlfriend was cheating on you with, because, as we all know, all black guys look the same," Bossuet reminded him wryly. Bahorel considered.

"So just R deserved it," he said fairly. Grantaire grinned.

"I’ll drink to that." The two clinked their glasses together.

Another waitress came by with the check, then, a sleepy, dreamy-eyed girl, and after Courfeyrac had harassed her for a bit ("Gibelotte! You're breaking my heart!"), the conversation turned to exams and winter break and Cosette rested her head on Marius’ shoulder, more tired than she cared to admit. The sounds of the bar, a little off-putting before, now seemed both louder and oddly soothing; she could fall asleep here, Cosette realized, surrounded by new friends and Marius, lulled by the startling, rowdy _life_ that was happening around her. _This is what I’ve been missing_ , she thought dazedly. _How funny._

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Combeferre told her, not unkindly, as her eyes slipped closed for the umpteenth time.

“I’m so lame,” she lamented, covering her face. “Guys, I’m sorry I’m so lame.”

“You are not lame,” Grantaire told her indignantly. He was just this side of properly drunk, having steadily knocked back enough alcohol to down a horse. For all that, his motor functions were impressive, considering, and he’d only just started to slur his words – and even then, not all that noticeably. “Take it from an actual lame person, Courgette – ”

“Cosette,” Joly corrected him affectionately.

“Cosette, shit, sorry – anyway…” He dwindled off. “What was I talking about?”

“I’m not lame?” Cosette prompted him amusedly. Grantaire slapped a hand on the table.

“That’s right, you aren’t! Good for you, actual Disney princess – confidence is half the battle! Or at least that’s what my middle school counselor’s cat poster said, and _as we all know_ , motivational cat posters never lie. Jesus Christ, I hated those things. And middle school, though I’m pretty sure that’s everybody.” He frowned. “Do you think Revolutionary Barbie has motivational cat posters on his wall? I feel like he would have motivational cat posters on his wall.”

“Welp, here we go,” Bahorel muttered as Joly reflected, “I don’t think he _likes_ cats,” and Courfeyrac burst out laughing.

“Oh, my God, _Revolutionary Barbie_ – I just – _oh, my God, I’m tweeting that_ – ”

“It’s the hair, though, right?” Bossuet said thoughtfully, nursing his drink. “I can see it.”

“He has nice hair,” Combeferre acknowledged with the air of a mother dog with too many puppies clambering all over her. “Courfeyrac, no tweeting, please.”

“Really nice hair,” Grantaire said plaintively. “He’s so _dumb_.”

“Aaaand, that’s our cue to skidoo,” Joly cut in brightly, standing. He tugged at a hank of Grantaire’s dark curls. “Let’s go, sweet prince. You’re riding back with us, right, Bahorel?” As Bahorel nodded, Grantaire scowled up at him, anguished.

“But I’m not Hamlet, I’m _Horatio_ ,” he argued. “I’m the bullshit meter, I go _ding_ when there’s bullshit – ”

“It’s past the bullshit meter’s bedtime,” Bahorel smirked, getting to his feet and throwing a wad of bills on the table. “And the bullshit meter is going kickboxing with me tomorrow, so the bullshit meter should go home and sleep as much as he can because the bullshit meter will need all his strength to survive the ass kicking that awaits him.”

“We shall see, _sir_ ,” Grantaire said grimly, standing as well. He didn’t seem to be even remotely as wobbly as he should have given his probably astronomical BAC. “Cosette,” he said solemnly, crossing to her and taking her hand, “it was lovely to meet you. I hope we shall see you again, that you may continue to grace us with your glow and your intellect.” With twinkling eyes, he brushed his lips to her knuckles, and Cosette blushed all the way to the top of her head.

Bahorel shook her hand.

“Pontmercy did all right, pretty girl. Don’t be afraid to smack him around a bit, though.” He winked. Cosette giggled.

Joly and Bossuet both hugged her, screeching, “Cosette sandwich!” while Marius just sort of grinned at the three of them. Then they, Bahorel, and Grantaire left, calling goodbyes and stumbling and laughing.

“Well, did we scare you off?” Courfeyrac asked her as she leaned into Marius, letting him lead her off the patio of the bar toward the parking lot and into the chilly night.

“You completely won me over,” she promised him happily. “No one could resist such adorableness.”

“Told you, Marius.” Grinning, Courfeyrac whistled a perfectly in tune “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” as he unlocked the car. Combeferre expertly nicked the keys from him and nudged him in the direction of the passenger’s seat, taking the driver’s seat himself.

“Renewal of Broship a success?” he asked Courfeyrac, starting the car. Courfeyrac looked over at him, unbuckled, and launched himself into his arms.

“We are bros!” he shouted, and Cosette suspected Grantaire wasn’t the only one who’d had more than enough to drink. “We are all bros!”

“Bros!” Marius cheered in the back. Combeferre adjusted his glasses, eyes crinkled in a smile.

“Bros,” he agreed. “Where do you live, Cosette?”

They chatted amiably all the way to Cosette’s little apartment building and Cosette marveled that three months ago, she’d been completely on her own. She couldn’t help the little pang in her chest as Combeferre pulled up to the curb of her building. The solitude would be welcome, of course, especially after the noise and chaos of Corinth. But the noise and chaos hadn’t been so bad, not really. Not bad at all.

“When’s the next meeting?” she asked impulsively as she unbuckled.

“Monday night at Musain’s again, seven o’clock,” Combeferre supplied. “I’ll email you the schedule, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Cosette responded. “Here, hold on – ” She dug through her purse for a pen and handed it to him. “Write your email on my arm – I’ll forget it otherwise – and I’ll email you all my contact information, how about that? Be careful of the poetry, please.”

“Ah, Whitman,” Combeferre commented sagely as he carefully printed his email address on the back of her hand. “You are definitely Jehan-approved. There.” He capped the pen, passed it back to her, and smiled, his glasses listing ever so slightly to the left, and Cosette gave in and adopted him, too.

“You done good, kid,” Courfeyrac told her warmly, twisting around to beam at her. “You done good. Congratulations, honorary Ami.”

After a chorus of “good nights” and “drive safes,” Marius walked her up to her apartment, only tripping up the concrete stairs once. They paused at the door, listening to the sounds of the not-too-far-away city and the night.

“You did do good,” he said with a smile that crinkled his eyes. Cosette snagged his belt loops, pulling him closer.

“I like your friends.” Marius raised his eyebrows.

“Even Enjolras?” he asked skeptically.

Cosette made a face.

“ _Yes_ , even Enjolras. He’s a big teddy bear, you can tell. And he has some really interesting opinions on the penal system, not a lot of people care, but he seems to have done a substantial amount of – ”

“You lost me at teddy bear,” Marius interrupted and she shook her head and laughed.

“Good night,” she whispered and kissed him. His hands went to her hips, his thumbs just brushing the skin between her shirt and her jeans, and she grinned, thinking of how hard she’d had to work at seducing him, poor duck. Now, he hardly hesitated at all; rather, quite the opposite. Rubbing noses with him, she pulled away. “Good _night_ ,” she repeated, more firmly. “Your friends are waiting.”

As if to underscore her point, the blare of a car horn upset the stillness of the apartment complex, and Cosette could have sworn she heard in the distance an exasperated and muffled, “ _Courfeyrac!_ ” Marius buried his face in the crook of her neck with a little snuffle of laughter.

“Good night,” he conceded, and after another, more chaste kiss, he bounded down the stairs, turning once at the landing to look at her with that goofy, wonderful expression of his that made her feel as though she could float away if she stepped lightly enough. And then he was gone, leaving Cosette to inhale the cool night air with great satisfaction.

 _Success,_ she thought as she slipped inside her apartment, flicking on the light. The little living room and kitchen, still a bit too bare for her tastes, seemed shockingly quiet to her now. And lonely. It seemed very lonely.

“But not for long,” she let her little basil plant that sat on the counter know, setting down her purse. “I have a feeling…well, I don’t want to jinx it. But I have a very good feeling.”

The basil plant didn’t reply. Cosette didn’t mind.

 _Not for long,_ she thought, humming to herself. A smile crept on to her face, and she had to bite it back to keep from laughing aloud. _Not for long, not for long._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you know how much i love feedback i love feedback so much wow feedback is the best
> 
> also, come visit me on tumblr! http://shakespearean-spunk.tumblr.com/


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